Meanwhile We'll Be Cooling Our Heels in Limbo
by uisceB
Summary: Post-5x13 Morgana/Morgause. Morgana has been killed by Emrys (actually killed this time), but somehow winds up at the Isle of the Blessed and is forced to encounter a ghost from her past (hint: it's Morgause). Starts light, gets angsty, mild knife-play, smut, humor. It's an afterlife love story, what are you going to do. Cuz if Arthur gets to come back some day, why not Morgana?


I

Morgana was relatively sure she was dead, and thus, was relatively _unsure_ why she seemed to currently be sitting on a large stony throne in the middle of an empty hall, inhaling, exhaling, and even wiggling her fingers and toes like a living person. If this was yet another one of those times that she'd been poisoned or stabbed or thrown against a wall only to find that she was somehow suddenly and inexplicably _alive_, she might throw a minor fit. Because really, if she was being honest here (and why not be honest, this was a private brain conversation after all) she was really just very tired. Really very tired of having to get back up again.

Well, that sounded awfully depressing, didn't it. It was true though. It's not that she was ever, you know, _happy_ at the prospect that she may have just been murdered by Merlin or Mordred or some random jerk with a sword, but sometimes it was a little bit of a relief to be able to just _lie down_ for a moment. And consider staying that way forever.

So what the bloody hell was this? _This_ time, she'd been sure she was dead. And at first, she was not happy about it. She'd always rather imagined that whenever it was that she eventually had to face off against Emrys it'd be quite the show. Dragons, swords, lightning. Fireworks, maybe. Lots of wind, and some glass shattering. She wasn't really sure where this glass would be if they were outside, but if there was, it would be broken in a million tiny pieces. And sure, everyone had always told her that Emrys was her _doom_, but she'd always imagined dragging him down with her.

Instead, Emrys had stabbed her. Plain and simple. That was it. The end.

But then, as he withdrew his sword from her gut , and things got darker, and she realized that yes, in fact, that was _her_ blood tumbling out of her, she got a little used to the idea of dying. Sleep. Finally, after an entire lifetime of not being able to, just a little peace and bloody quiet.

So there'd better be a damn good explanation for why she was apparently, and quite distressingly, _not dead._

"Morgana."

The sound came unexpectedly and froze the blood in her. (Assuming there was actually blood _to_ freeze, given that she was supposed to be dead, shouldn't her blood be rather immobile already?)

"Morgana, look at me."

Morgana looked very pointedly at the floor. She knew that voice entirely too well and whether she was afraid she was wrong, or afraid she was right, she couldn't find it in herself to look up at the source of the sound.

Seemed she didn't need to. Feather-light, a cool hand grazed against her cheek and then lingered, tracing faintly at her jaw.

Morgana let out a breath and closed her eyes, leaning into the touch very slightly. If she'd had any doubt before, it was gone now; she'd know that touch anywhere, though she'd never thought it would be hers to feel again.

She opened her eyes. Crouched at her side, looking up at her with wide dark eyes, was Morgause. Morgause _alive. _Not a single scar could be found on the blonde woman's face; she looked exactly the way she had all those years ago when Morgana had first laid eyes on her.

Morgana regarded her sister, motionless. Then-

"I swear to God if this is a dream I'm going to kill someone."

"You often kill people, love, forgive me if that's not the most flattering thing I've ever heard," Morgause replied softly.

"Someone I like, I mean," Morgana amended, trying to keep in control. "Mordred maybe."

"Mordred's already dead."

"Someone else I like then."

"Do you like anyone else?"

"Not in particular."

Morgause's face broke into a smile and she brushed her thumb over Morgana's lower lip. "That's my girl," she teased.

Morgana wanted to smile back. She wanted to suck Morgause's thumb into her mouth, she wanted to tackle her to the ground and lose herself inside her, she wanted…she wanted every piece of Morgause that had been denied her these past four years.

Instead, she found herself answering flatly, "I'm not your girl anymore," and standing to her feet.

She was momentarily afraid that the act of standing would not work out- after all, she was meant to be dead. But her motions were strong and fluid as ever, and she strode down the steps of the throne and into the stale openness of the empty hall. Behind her, she heard the rustle of Morgause's dress as she stood to her feet as well.

Morgana went to the window, glancing out to find that wherever she was, it was surrounded by the thickest layer of fog she'd ever come across. She had a short image of wrapping herself up in the fog and going to sleep for a century or two and nearly smiled. Then she skidded her finger against the window sill and found the tiniest scrape-mark of blood bubble up.

"So…I seem to be sort of alive," she commented.

It was strange, she could actually feel the tension in the air intensify as she spoke, almost as if she could see Morgause's discomfort at her tone. They'd had that before, where neither of them really needed to speak ever, they could always just feel what the other was thinking. Of course then, they'd been having a slightly better time, what with the grand plans and the plotting. Things were a bit more icy now that the war was over and they were more or less on the losing team.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say _alive_," Morgause answered, tone cautious. "But you're a far cry from dead, so there's a start."

Morgana actually smirked at that, but refused to turn to look at her sister. "You really like keeping me in the dark, don't you?" she asked, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes a bit. "Would it kill you to give me a straight answer for once?"

She listened to Morgause's footsteps as the blonde crossed the expanse of the floor haughtily to join her at the window. The older woman lingered behind her, seemingly gathering her thoughts. Morgana wouldn't be surprised to find her sister fuming behind her in that silent way of hers.

"Fine, how's this for a straight answer?" Morgause hissed finally, and the sound of her anger shot an unexpected warmth all throughout Morgana's body. "You and me? We get to lounge about these parts for the next few hundred years until that miserable brother of yours decides to come back to life and be the great once and future savior of whatever the hell the future has in store for us."

Morgana turned to look at her. "…We have to stay _here_? There are…cobwebs here. Spiders, probably."

"Christ, Morgana, it's the Isle of the Blessed, I'd say it's a fair few steps up from that _hovel_ you insisted on living in a few years ago," Morgause snapped. "Certainly better than that prison pit you got yourself locked up in."

"I didn't _get myself locked up_…"

"Well it took you long enough to get out-"

"And it wasn't a _prison pit_, it's called an _oubliette_…"

"It was a small room made of stone built under ground, that is a _prison_ and a _pit_ if I ever saw one."

They glared at one another for a moment. Then Morgana said, "You know an awful lot about what's happened to me for being a dead person."

"And you know shockingly little about anything for being a seer," her sister returned. She looked down to get her anger under better control. Morgana almost wished she wouldn't. It was a rare sight to actually see Morgause riled up, and she found she rather liked it.

"Arthur will rise again, and when he does, we'll be given a second chance," Morgause told her. "You, me, Mordred, Nimueh…" She paused, wrinkling her nose. "…Merlin as well."

"I guess it was too much to hope I could just fucking rest in peace," Morgana mumbled, turning back to the window.

Morgause seized her wrist and spun her back around to face her. "We're _magic_, Morgana, very much linked to Arthur Pendragon and everything he does, we don't just _disappear_," she snarled.

"I don't know, Merlin stabbed me, I stabbed you…seemed like a fairly clear-cut disappearing act to me," Morgana drawled. She could actually see the physical effort it took for Morgause to bite back a retort.

"We have a second chance," the older woman repeated resolutely. "Morgana, this is a gift, this is…this is our destiny…"

Morgana barked out a harsh laugh. "I can tell you right now, me and destiny have a shit record together," she said. "So not to sound…_ungrateful_ for this glorious _gift_…but if we've got a few hundred years ahead of us with nothing to do but think about _Arthur_, I think I'll spend it working out ways to off myself in a more permanent manner. If you don't mind."

Morgause folded her arms across her chest, throwing her head back and Morgana couldn't help but flutter inwardly at the power in that tiny gesture. "Well. I can see you're going to be absolutely _hilarious_ for the next millennium or so," the blonde woman said haughtily.

"Millennium," Morgana repeated. "You distinctly said several _hundred_ years. Not a millennium."

"Time's what you make it, my sweet," Morgause said with a sneer. "I myself had rather pictured us taking turns fucking each other on the throne and figuring out new and improved ways to use the very nicely-stocked torture chamber downstairs to pass the time. But, if you're insisting on being a downer…"

Morgana set her jaw. There was a time when those few images alone would have been enough to coax her onto her knees in front of her sister. She would have happily done anything that entered Morgause's mind, without the slightest hesitation.

But she'd also been stupider then. Weaker. And with quite a few less scars to show and tales to tell.

So she leveled her gaze at Morgause and allowed a cutting, rueful smile to curl her lips. "You're right," she said, relieved that the words were released without tremor. "I must be a great disappointment to you."

Then she turned on her heel and stalked off in search of…whatever privacy this floating island of limbo could actually afford a mostly-dead High Priestess with a case of the blues.

II

As it was, Morgana soon found out that _privacy_ was more or less exactly like _loneliness_, and the knowledge that she now had several hundred years…a millennium…whatever, great bloody gobs of time before having to actually get dressed up in her battle gear once again and fight the good fight…well, it was doing absolutely nothing for her peace of mind.

And Morgause…why was she trapped here with _Morgause_? Of all people…it could have been Mordred_._ It could have been Uther-could have been fucking _Merlin _(though apparently he was still waltzing around amongst the living, that creep).

But not Morgause. Not the one person who remembered her from before all this _shit_. Everyone else had already witnessed her tragic downfall, but Morgause had died thinking there was still _hope_ for her. Well, cheers, Morgana had survived just long enough to dig herself into her own grave, and she was an absolute _mess_ for all that effort.

That was the worst of it, wasn't it. She really _must_ be a disappointment to Morgause. She'd managed to outlive her only to fail exactly everything they'd fought for.

That, or this was all she was ever meant to become anyway.

Well, there was a chilling thought.

Unable to relax, Morgana took to wandering the halls. It was not exactly comforting. The last time she'd been here, it had been for the sole purpose of killing Morgause. Obviously, at Morgause's behest, but still. For all her sister's claims that this had once been a glorious place of magic and wonder and happy naked rituals, the only feeling Morgana could get from it was one of death.

(Which was extra fitting now, since it would serve as her death sentence for the next great expanse of indeterminable amount of time).

"I see you're still the most committed insomniac ever to walk the Earth," came a voice behind her and Morgana halted feeling weariness creep over her.

She turned to see Morgause leaning one shoulder against the wall behind her.

"How do you always manage to do that?" Morgana asked. Morgause raised her eyebrows. "How are you always behind me, anytime I go anywhere? You did that when we were alive too. It's fucking uncanny."

"I used to stalk you more often than is actually appropriate," Morgause admitted with a hint of a smile. "It's actually even more fun now, you've got quite the swagger to your walk these days."

The older woman stepped forward so she was mere inches from her sister. It took every ounce of courage and strength she possessed for Morgana not to step back. Or forward.

Morgause lifted up her hand to cup Morgana's jaw. It was a thing she did. A very effective thing she did. It would be so easy to step away from, but at the same time, far too devastating to even consider.

"You're thinner too," Morgause observed, brushing her thumb over the sharp angle of her sister's cheekbone. Her hand grazed down Morgana's neck, to her shoulders, down to her waist, and rested there firmly.

Morgana felt her breath catch in her throat, hoping it didn't show. Trying to steady herself, she only managed to inhale shakily, raising her own hand to skim her knuckles over the right side of her sister's face- the side that, last she'd seen, had been buried beneath a twisted mass of scars.

"Of the two of us, you certainly look…better preserved," Morgana agreed.

Morgause smiled, holding her sister's hand against her face with her own. "Benefits of spending time in a magical limbo land," she said, "you'll find you can look however suits you best. You could shave a few years off, add a few on…hell, you could make yourself look like that old hag you were posing as that time you imprisoned Vivien."

"Mithian," Morgana corrected, "and how on Earth do you _know_ that?"

"Morgana," Morgause said smiling, "You know me. I am overbearingly protective, and more or less completely obsessed with you, which means I am exactly a half-step shy of being an actual stalker, and if you honestly believe that that has changed just because I died, you are woefully mistaken."

Morgana found herself smiling, just a little bit, and Morgause pressed their foreheads together. "So please, will you stop pretending we're strangers and let me hold you?" the older woman concluded.

It was the word _stranger_ that did it. Morgana bit her lip and slid her hand up to Morgause's shoulder, pushing her away softly. "We are strangers," she said. "I'm not the King's Ward anymore, I'm not your sister anymore…I'm not yours at all. Whatever Morgana you thought you were in love with, she's long gone. It's just me now."

"I like the you now," Morgause said firmly. "I told you, that's a hell of a swagger you've got."

"You don't _know_ the me now," Morgana said, fully detaching herself from her sister and taking a step back. "And I promise, you really wouldn't like me very much."

An icy sort of shadow fell over Morgause's face and Morgana was quickly reminded of just how dangerous her sister could become when angered.

The blonde woman's voice was cold as she said, "I'll tell you one thing, Morgana Pendragon, you're just as bloody self-important as you were when I first met you. You're arrogant as ever, spoiled, you've still got that fight in you, but you're aiming it in absolutely the wrong direction, just like always. You might be surprised to learn how _little_ you've actually changed."

And before Morgana had time to summon even the weakest response, the blonde woman closed the distance between them, shoving Morgana up against the wall and kissing her with bruising force.

Morgana gasped, clinging weakly to Morgause as the older woman consumed her in that all-too familiar mess of brutality and tenderness. The younger sister tangled her fingers in golden curls, moaning wantonly as Morgause slipped her tongue devilishly against her own.

"There," Morgause said darkly, pulling away as suddenly as she'd begun. She had Morgana trapped against the wall and breathing heavily, she could have done anything she wanted. Instead, she hissed, "Exactly the _fucking same_," and stormed away, leaving Morgana breathless and cold.

III

So, "Limbo" was apparently just another word for "Hell" and "Isle of the Blessed" was another word for…"Most Awful Place in the World Ever, Even Worse than the Oubliette Prison Pit Only With More Leg Room So That's Nice."

Morgana was weirdly torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry about the fact that, in spite of everything, the only person who could ever really make her want to die was Morgause, even now, even to this very day. Except that now she wasn't allowed to die. And Morgause was her fellow Limbo-bound inmate. It was hilarious, it was stupid, it was depressing.

Morgana really wished one or several of the Knights of the Round Table were around so she could have someone to torture to death. Say what you would about it, there was nothing like a good torture session to take the edge off things. That's why she'd actually developed some bit of a fondness for Sir Gwaine. Now there was a man who knew how to enjoy pain.

Gwaine, pain. Perhaps she should consider taking up poetry for the next few centuries, she clearly had a knack for rhymey things.

Or she could drown herself. Morgana really wanted to drown herself. Not that that was really an option if she was technically already dead. Half-dead. Cooling her heels in Limbo for a few centuries.

Morgana considered her options. Even assuming that one _could_ kill oneself whilst in Limbo, there was still that nasty question of "what next?" Was that it and she could finally get a little shut-eye? Or was there just another Limbo waiting for her after that? And another one after that? And another and another and another until finally Arthur bloody woke up already?

Well, if death didn't kill her, all this thinking certainly would. Morgana was giving herself a headache. Which, she believed, should be illegal in crazy Limbo land.

Her restless wandering eventually led her to the dungeons below the castle, and behind them, the torture chamber. Empty shackles dangled from the ceiling and the walls were almost overtaken with a vast array of whips, spikes, and various devices Morgana would not even know where to begin figuring out how to use. There was a small window in the far wall, angled upward, allowing a small stream of moonlight in. The rest of the chamber was lit with torches and candles, giving it an eerie, flickering restlessness.

Morgana wasn't surprised to see her sister there with a giant book open on her lap. Interesting choice, to keep the weapons of torture and the books all together in one room. Of course, depending on the book, it could make a lot of sense.

Taking a breath, Morgana stepped out of the shadows and into the open. "So a place called the Isle of the Blessed has a torture chamber," she said, announcing her presence.

Morgause looked up from the book, expression still a little cold but with a touch of hopefulness etched around the corner. "My idea," she said. "Well, mine and Nimueh's. Back when there were lots of us here, she and I thought it added something of a homey touch."

"Quite, _homey_," Morgana murmured, running her fingers along the edge of what looked like a giant iron fishing hook. She was surprised to find it still sharp and withdrew her hand as the edge of it cut just deep enough to break the surface of her skin. She shuddered inwardly, feeling Morgause's steady gaze on her back.

She turned back to face her. "So. What are you doing down here?" she asked conversationally.

Morgause looked incredulous for a moment before tilting the book up for her sister to see. "Learning," she answered. "About this place, about what we're doing here."

"And what _are_ we doing here?"

"Mostly waiting," Morgause admitted, "but it's interesting how we got here. Seems all of us who are Waiting-that's Waiting with a capital W, by the way-we all get called to Wait in a place that was home to us, a place of power. For Arthur, that's Avalon, for me, it's this place. I'd imagine Mordred's found his way to some Druid relic or another. Nimueh…well who really knows about Nimueh, she was always a bit of a wild card."

"And me?" Morgana asked. "Why would I be called here? The Island of the Blessed was never my home."

Morgause gazed at her carefully. For a moment, Morgana actually dared to hope her sister might say something like "Sweetheart, I used my magical stalking powers to call your soul to mine across oceans and deserts of time" and didn't really know how to feel about the fact that she actually wanted to hear that. Or some slightly less stupid-sounding variation of it anyway.

Instead, Morgause closed the book and got to her feet. "I'm not sure," she said. "Maybe because you never really had a home. Not in Camelot, not with the Saxons. Not in your silly hovel. You've always gone where I go."

The blonde woman crossed the room to stand a breath away from Morgana, taking the younger sister's chin in her hand. Her eyes bored into Morgana's, harder than the brunette had ever seen them. "Still mine," Morgause said, voice low. Her nails dug delicately into Morgana's skin.

A part of Morgana wanted to protest- she'd come a long way from the sweet young thing Morgause had spirited away from Camelot so many years ago. But at the same time, she didn't trust herself to speak, not when every vein in her body seemed to be on fire. So she shook her head and tried not to breathe.

"No?" Morgause asked, looking amused at Morgana's silent protest. "What, you've become too strong for me, too good for me?"

Morgana bit her lip, daring to speak, though her voice came out no louder than a pathetic squeak. "I don't know whether I've failed you, or if I've just become exactly what you always wanted me to become," she said. "But whatever it is, I'm not yours anymore. I can't be."

Morgause stepped even closer into her so Morgana's back was pressed up against the wall, and dipped her head to breathe hotly into her ear, "And what have I always wanted you to become?"

Morgana shuddered. "Nothing," she forced out. "Just another dead soldier in a war I get to wait a millennium to see the end of."

Morgause pulled back just far enough to be able to look Morgana in the face, a pained smile twisting her mouth. "Ah, _now_ we're getting somewhere," she said, smoothing the brunette's hair back. "You think _I_ did this to you."

"I wasn't…blaming you…" Morgana protested feebly.

Morgause reached her arm over to the collection of jagged instruments hanging from the wall to the left of Morgana, unhooking a small dagger from its display and pressing it lightly to the dip of her sister's collarbone. Morgana pressed herself flat against the wall, trying to get as much distance between the tiny weapon and herself as possible. It wasn't much.

"You could if you wanted to," Morgause was saying softly, "Blame me, I mean." She glided the miniature dagger up the front of Morgana's throat making the younger woman shiver and dig her nails into the stone wall behind her for some sense of reassurance. "You could blame me for every horrible thing you've ever been through," Morgause continued. "Then you could turn around and blame Uther, blame Merlin, blame Arthur…we could spend the entire rest of our time here trying to shovel out the blame for what you've become."

The blonde woman reached down, knife still in hand, and pushed Morgana's skirts slowly up her leg till they were hoisted almost to her waist. The younger woman's breathing was coming in deep shudders and her eyes were locked with Morgause's, wide, fearful, and desperately dark.

Morgause pressed her mouth to Morgana's ear. "But I think we both know," she said, "that at the end of the day, there's _nothing_ I didn't do for you. There is _no one_ in this entire fucking world that I love so much as I love you. And I'm not going to _stop_ loving you, just because you've deemed yourself too damaged for me to touch."

She pressed the edge of the dagger into the brunette's thigh, dragging it slowly up the inside of it, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to set every nerve in Morgana's body on fire with the thought of what it _could_ do.

She gasped as Morgause trailed the knife higher, pressing in just a little harder, enough to sting. Her hand flew down to try to wrestle the weapon away from herself; at the same time, Morgause was kissing her hotly beneath the ear, breath labored, and Morgana found her ability to struggle somewhat compromised.

"Easy, Morgana," the blonde mumbled chastisingly, lips skimming over the surface of her sister's neck. "Don't fight me, sweetheart, come on."

"Morgause…" the younger woman stammered. The cool handle of the dagger brushed against her clit and she cried out in sudden panic, her eyes snapping open wide as she dug her nails into her sister's shoulders, trying and utterly failing to push her away.

"Stop, Morgause, please," she begged frantically, chest heaving in spite of herself. "Please just, you have to stop…"

Morgause leaned her head heavily into the crook of Morgana's neck making the younger woman shudder. "I don't think I can," the blonde breathed, and she pressed the blade the slightest bit harder against the inside of Morgana's thigh, bidding a thin line of blood to come beading up to the surface of her skin. Morgana cried out in surprise and as she did, Morgause dropped the blade to the ground with a clatter, grabbing her sister roughly by the chin and crashing their lips together.

Maybe it was the relief that Morgause hadn't sliced her up to tiny pieces, maybe it was the slight disappointment that she hadn't, or maybe it was just the pure, unsullied _want_ that she could feel in Morgause's kiss…whatever it was, Morgana couldn't find it in herself to fight this time. She grasped at her sister, pulling her against herself desperately, opening up, raw and hot against Morgause's touch.

Morgause's groan came out as a purr and she slipped her hand over around the back of Morgana's thigh, lifting it up to hook around her waist. Morgana clung to her for dear life, quite certain they were both going to topple over onto he floor, but not really caring as Morgause mouthed over the tops of her breasts. Seeming to think the same thing, Morgause braced one hand at Morgana's side against the wall for a bit more stability before skimming her other hand up between the younger woman's legs, gliding her finger lightly against her slit.

Morgana whimpered breathily, hips jerking forward to try to encourage Morgause to get inside her; the blonde responded by pinning the younger woman's hips so hard against the wall Morgana could hardly breathe. Her hand remained pressed hard between Morgana's legs, making the younger woman gasp for air, but she had stilled her ministrations completely and raised her head to look her younger sister in the eye.

"I love you," the blonde said fiercely. Morgana was caught, speechless and panting, and suddenly resentful once more at her sister's words. She made a feeble attempt to push herself away from Morgause; Morgause grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look at her. "Do you understand?" she asked the brunette. "Do you understand that I love you?"

Morgana swallowed, trying to get her breathing under control, finding she couldn't. If she'd been younger, if she'd still been capable of crying, she might have. But either her tear ducts no longer worked properly, or she just didn't know how to cry anymore, because she didn't. But she still found herself quaking under Morgause's gaze, hearing the words she never thought she would again, and raised her eyes to her sister's, saying tremblingly, "I understand."

Morgause kissed her heatedly then, tongue slipping into her mouth at the same time her fingers slipped up inside her, plunging in and out relentlessly. Morgana moaned hard into her mouth, then let her head fall back as Morgause overtook her, stronger than her as always. Against every will, she found herself trembling at her sister's touch, clenching down around her fingers, her head hitting against the wall behind her as she came, fighting against it the whole time, and hoping it would never end.

At the end of it, she could hardly find it in herself to stand, so she sank to the ground, Morgause following, arms still around her. She let herself lay back onto the floor and Morgause settled on top of her, nestled between her legs. The blonde looked down at her younger sister, tracing her face with her fingernail.

"I love you," she said again.

Morgana allowed herself a small smile, finding it warm. "Yes, I was starting to suspect that a bit," she said. Morgause grinned.

The brunette rolled her over so she was on top, catching her sister by surprise. She stared down at her, feeling suddenly lost again. "I don't know how to do this," she said quietly.

Morgause raised her eyebrows. "As I recall you know _exactly_ how to do this, Morgana Pendragon," she replied.

"No, I mean…" Morgana laughed as she caught on to her sister's words. "…I just mean…this. Being with people. And not killing them. I'm not sure I'm very good at it."

"Well lucky for you, I'm already dead," Morgause informed her, "more or less, anyway. And, not to poke holes in that inflated sense of pride you've got, but I'm still privy to a few magic tricks you've never even heard of. So I think I could take you, if that's what it came down to."

"You think you could _take me_?" Morgana teased.

"Oh that's right, I already did that, didn't I?" Morgause returned with a lilt, tilting her head playfully up at the brunette.

Morgana spied the dagger lying on the floor not to far from them and made a grab for it, pressing it down lightly against Morgause's throat. The blonde's breath caught, but her eyes glittered.

"And now?" Morgana asked her. "Still think you could take me?"

Morgause answered by tugging on the brunette's hair, pulling her down into a kiss. Morgana melted against her as she danced her tongue furiously against her (Morgause really had quite the tongue on her, didn't she) but pulled away suddenly when she felt her sister trying to slip the dagger out of her hands.

"Ah-no!" she exclaimed with a giggle, tightening her grip on the handle and angling the blade so it rested just under Morgause's chin. She felt the older woman shiver beneath her and grinned devilishly. "You got to play with the knife last time, it's my turn now."

Morgause feigned a pout. "Wow. You really are the same as always. Greedy," she said, shifting under her younger sister, making the brunette tense above her. "Fine," she continued in mock surrender, relaxing against Morgana's hold on her. "But I want you chained to those shackles in the ceiling next time, and I want to use…_that…_on you."

Morgana twisted her head to look at the instrument on the wall that Morgause had indicated. She wasn't totally sure which one it was, either the multi-braided whip, or one of those things with the sticking-out spikes. She regarded both suspiciously before deciding, what the hell, it's not like she could ever really say no to Morgause anyway. Obviously. She turned her head back to look at the blonde.

"We're never going to just have a normal relationship, are we?" she asked.

Morgause looked at her curiously. "You mean because we're sisters, because we're magical, or because we're dead?" the older woman inquired.

"I…well, I was more thinking because of the weapons and how you're abusive and controlling and I guess I happen to like that and…" Morgana broke off. "But, yeah, I guess…I mean, sure, if you wanted to make it all _dirty_, I guess because of those other things too."

"Morgana, can you honestly ever think of a time when I'm _not_ trying to make things all dirty?" the older sister asked.

Morgana silenced her with a kiss, letting the knife fall forgotten to the side. Morgause had always been the one who really liked toys anyway; for now, all Morgana really wanted was just to touch her, get lost in her. Maybe she really hadn't changed. Maybe she was going soft again. Maybe that was okay, maybe. If Morgause loved her, if Morgause took care of her. Maybe she could actually be that thing that…what was it, rhymed with snappy.

Happy.

God, she really _should_ be a poet.

Later, when they were finished and still hadn't managed to get up off the floor, and Morgana's limbs were all wrapped around Morgause where they were always meant to be, Morgana murmured softly, "Morgause?" and the older woman turned to look at her, eyes dark and endlessly patient.

Morgana took a deep breath. "I love you too, you know," she said. She panicked the moment the words were out and stuttered, "I mean, I don't know that I'm really any good at it anymore, loving people I mean, I mostly only know how to throw people against walls and torture them with snakes, but if I can…I want to. I want to love you. I do love you."

Morgause reached over, cupping her jaw in that almost-cliche way that still managed to send jolts of pleasure all through her body. "I know that," the blonde answered.

"And I promise when Arthur returns, I won't fail you again."

Morgause pressed their foreheads together. "Morgana, you never failed me," she said. "Never."

"I may have slipped up a couple times though. I mean, I did get myself killed."

"Well. That happens sometimes."

"Sometimes. Yes. More often than it really should, actually."

"Well we've got the next several hundred years to get you strong enough to not let it happen again," Morgause said. "Not to mention plotting your brother's demise. Again."

Morgana nestled against the blonde's shoulder, feeling a heavy warmth take hold of her. "I miss plotting things with you. Plotting by yourself just really isn't as fun."

Morgause smiled. "Let's save the plotting for next century," she said. "I've got other, far more interesting things in mind for us until then."


End file.
